


Moments

by jiminyneesham



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Secret Santner 2017, mistletoe kisses, muffin squad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 03:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13309560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiminyneesham/pseuds/jiminyneesham
Summary: A series of moments, under the Australian sun





	Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [labonnetouche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/labonnetouche/gifts).



> Based on the prompt - _one mistletoe kiss. It can be whoever you want_
> 
> Also to quote labonnetouche - "Oh god, if this is Blushy and Jonny I will die... but also I will *cry". So I'm sorry?

**Perth**

The thing is, Jonny tells himself, that this can’t happen. He’s more than a few drinks down and Chris is leaning against the bar, in an animated conversation with Mo. Chris is stroking the condensation off the outside of his glass, his head slightly thrown back as he laughs. His cheeks are flushed, possibly from alcohol, but with Chris you can never really tell. Jonny wets his lips before downing the last of his beer, his beer-addled brain deciding he’s going to say something. Something probably along the lines of “you can’t be standing there, looking that good and treating that glass the way I want you to treat my dick.”

So he takes a few purposeful steps in Chris’ direction before a crowd of West Australians put themselves in his way. He knows a few of them, they’ve played county, or for Australia but he doesn’t care about any of them enough to stop and talk. He pushes his way through the group, a few of them saying hello. He’s just about free of the group, and almost close enough that he can hear Chris laughing now, when a hand grabs his forearm. It takes a moment for him to put the name to the face. Bandeau? Mycroft? Bancroft? His brain supplies to him along with ‘Gloucestershire’. 

There is a moment, he lifts his eyes over Bancroft’s shoulder and Chris’ hand is on Mo’s shoulder. Again, his head thrown back in a hearty laugh. He thinks of James, looks at Mo, who’s own head is now thrown back in laughter, his shoulders shaking. His eyes come back to Cam, who was obviously talking and is now waiting for a response, lip caught behind his teeth. Jonny’s brain unhelpfully offers him another solution. He licks his lips and Bancroft watches, his own tongue mimicking the action. He leans in, then there is a bump against his shoulder and his dress shoes lose grip on the tiled floor. The next thing he feels is something sharp, Cameron’s teeth his brain supplies, against his forehead. There is a flurry of movement, a pair of hands under his arms to stop him hitting the floor completely and a crowd gathering around them. There is a hand, solidly squeezing his shoulder and a voice that tells him it’s time to go home.

He doesn’t know anything, except when he looks back over his shoulder to the bar, Chris is gone.

**Townsville**

Chris is a nervy spectator. No one normally sits with him, well they never used to, not until Jonny. Nothing seems to faze Jonny, not even Chris’ leg jiggling. Townsville is warm, sticky and seemingly from another time. Chris is padded up, even though Cooky and Rocky are still batting solidly under the hot Australian sun. The thump, thump, thump of Stuart bouncing a tennis ball against the wall was not helping the nerves, his teeth clenching at the sound.

Jonny deals with his nerves by keeping himself busy. This tour it’s a book of sudoku, but in the past it’s been everything from crosswords to word searches. Jonny has the end of his pen between his teeth, his fingers tapping against the squares checking the numbers. Chris’ leg jiggles in time with the gentle tapping of Jonny’s fingers, he doesn’t know when it happened, but now it is. Chris pulls his bottom lip behind his teeth, sinking down further into his chair, aiming for casual, relaxed, chilled, but totally not getting it, especially as it’s only a few brief moments before the leg starts up again. Chris is looking out at the pitch, the solid _thunk_ of ball on bat and a clap from the keeper, trying to keep his focus.

He jumps a little when Jonny’s hand comes to rest on his knee, his thumb gently stroking back and forth, bringing Chris’ leg to a standstill. Chris swallows, his eyes flicking to Jonny, whose attention hasn’t shifted from his puzzle, pen cap still caught between his teeth. Chris is sure he lets out a loud shaky breath, but it doesn’t draw anyone’s attention, not even Jonny, who is counting the numbers in the square before muttering ‘ _four and five, four and five_ ’ to himself, hoping the solution will show itself. Jonny’s fingers are tracing a figure eight on the inside of Chris’ thigh, higher and higher each time, making Chris’ breath catch.

Cooky nicks one through to the keeper, and Jonny withdraws his hand as the changeroom springs back to life.

1/172.

**Adelaide**

They’ve only been here a month, only 4 to go. After New Zealand of course. It’s snowing in England, and the photos from his mum are like a stake to his heart. He doesn’t tell her that, of course, he tells her he misses her, and she tells him _18 days_.

He knows he is quiet at dinner, caught in his own thoughts, fingers itching to call Becky just to talk. No one calls him out on it, just letting him fiddle with his phone. 

A post-dinner normal evening, for them, so far has consisted of FIFA. Normally until one of them has admitted defeat. Normally it’s Jonny, and normally he’s 0-4 down, but he always claims it’s because he’s tired, as not to disappoint Chris. Even though Chris’ own shoulders have slumped with slumber. 

Tonight is different. Even though when they get into Chris’ room, Chris still turns the PlayStation on, the room gaining a familiar blue tinge. Chris lifts a controller in Jonny’s direction and Jonny shakes his head. Chris doesn’t look surprised, he just puts the controller on the floor, shuffling up to the top of the bed where Jonny has perched himself. His hand rests next to Jonny’s stretching his fingers out so their little fingers are touching. Jonny finds himself nodding, even though Chris hasn’t said anything, like Chris is inside his head. Chris shuffles them so they are flat, Chris on his back, Jonny pulled against his side. Jonny lifts his head, his ear resting over Chris’ heart.

It seems like the noise fades to nothing but the sturdy _thump thump_ of Chris’ heart. The PlayStation isn’t humming anymore, the street below is quiet. Jonny’s eyes fall closed as Chris presses his lips to Jonny’s forehead. Jonny’s head lifts towards the touch, his nose bumping against Chris’. A little intake of breath, Jonny thinks it’s Chris but it could have been him. It doesn’t matter, not really. The next thing Jonny knows Chris’ alarm is jolting him awake.

7am.

**Perth**

108th over. Hazelwood, over the wicket. Jonny facing, Chris at the other end, having just lost Dawid and Mo in the space of 4 deliveries. 

Jonny had been elevated above Mo, but 4-131 wasn’t ideal. Before that, Chris has been sitting next to him in the dressing room, leg jiggling like it always does when he’s trying to dispel some nervous energy. Jonny wasn’t much better, not today anyway, fingers tapping on the arm of the chair, brain not being able to focus on the puzzles that normally help him stay calm. Chris’ forearm is resting against his, like when you have to share your armrest at the cinema. Chris sits up a bit straighter, his hand moving so his palm is against Jonny’s forearm, a solid comfort, something to focus on. Chris starts by just stroking his thumb back and forth, calming and slow, then starts with those long fast bowler fingers copying the figure eight from Townsville.

When the wicket fell, Chris’ hand pulled back, a smile and a quick nod. _You can do this._

**108.1 - Hazlewood to Bairstow, no run, good length and outside off, no shot.**

An ooh from the crowd and the bowler, Jonny scuffs his boot into the crease. Focus, Jonny. He can almost feel the fingers on his forearm, he takes a deep breath on one loop of the eight, then exhales on the other.

**108.2 - Hazlewood to Bairstow, FOUR, full and hung up wide outside off - wider than a set of stumps outside off - Bairstow flashes an outside edge past second slip. The ball streaks away to the third-man boundary.**

Jonny sets off on a half jog down the pitch, slowing as the ball stops at the rope. Chris meets him halfway with a fist pump and some words of encouragement.

**108.3 - Hazlewood to Bairstow, no run, back of a length and wide outside off, Bairstow stabs at it and is beaten again, watching the ball bounce over the bat.**

Another ooh from the WACA, Hazlewood’s hands up, almost ready for an appeal. Jonny takes a deep breath, briefly looking up at Chris before going down to poke at the pitch with his bat, sweeping away some loose bits around his feet. Breath in on one loop of the eight. Breath out on the other.

**108.4 - Hazlewood to Bairstow, no run, banged down leg, he gets inside the line and lets it go.**

**__**_Nice Joshy_ from Tim Paine. Claps from Smith at first slip. Jonny looks down to where the ball at pitched, plays a practice shot before settling back into the crease.

**108.5 - Hazlewood to Bairstow, no run, pitched up and outside off, presses out and dabs to cover.**

**__**_NO RUN._ He holds his hand up for Chris, who backs up without a problem. Jonny goes down and again presses his bat down onto the pitch while Hazlewood is walking back to his mark. There is something calming about Chris being in the middle with him, maybe it’s the smile that doesn’t leave his face, the smile that makes Jonny believe it really is going to be okay.

**108.6 - Hazlewood to Bairstow, FOUR, back of a length and width, Bairstow latches onto it and chops it hard onto the ground, sending the ball skipping over Lyon at point.**

A shout of catch it, more meaning stop it. He makes the single quickly, then jogs back to meet Chris mid-wicket. Another fist bump and a smile. 

JM Bairstow 118*

CR Woakes 0*

**Melbourne**

Chris sends a silent prayer to whoever happens to be listening that he hasn’t read this whole thing, with Jonny, wrong. The girls are out, Melbourne and its shopping too much for most of them to resist. The others are by the pool, having welcomed the Australian sun with open arms having escaped the thermals weather. 

Chris feels like he’s wearing the carpet bare as he paces along the window. The knock at the door is what stops him in his tracks. He feels like a deer, caught in headlights. His breath caught in his throat. Another knock tells him he’s waited too long.

When he opens the door Jonny is in his training kit. Of course Jonny is in his training kit. Chris, however, is not. Chris is dressed nicely, not like suit and tie, but tidy. Because in his head he can hear his mum telling him that if he’s going to confess his feelings for someone he should make the effort.

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” Jonny asks, looking past Chris into the room. Chris’ cheeks flush red, suddenly feeling overdressed. Chris shakes his head, possibly too late but Jonny smiles at him anyway.

“Of course not, we’re exchanging gifts, aren’t we?” Chris opens the door wider, ushering Jonny into the room. For the first time Chris notices the box in Jonny’s hand, tied up with a silver ribbon. 

“Can I go first?” Chris asks, his hands reaching for the box he knows is sitting in the draw of his bedside table. Jonny nods, his face lighting up with a smile. They’d set a limit of less than £10 and the present had to be bought in Australia. Buying for Jonny was easy, Chris knew exactly what he was going to get for him, it was just a matter of finding it. Chris opens the draw to get the box, his hands shaking as he reaches for it. Thankfully Jonny can’t see it. Jonny takes the box once it’s held out in his direction. He gives the box a little shake, an amused look spreading across his face.

“Did you just get me a fancy looking box?” Jonny teases, tugging on the ribbon so the bow comes loose. Chris can feel his face tense with anticipation, eyes flicking to Jonny’s face once the lid is off the box.

“You got me a stick?” Jonny laughs, not looking up at Chris. For a moment, Chris is worried his heart is going to beat right out of his chest.

“I got you mistletoe,” Chris says, quickly so he can’t change his mind. There is a horrifically long moment where Jonny is silent, still not having looked up at Chris.

“You. Got Me. Mistletoe?” Jonny repeats, slowly, processing.

Chris can’t speak, he just nods. Jonny hasn’t even really said anything yet, but he feels the traitorous tears prickling his eyes. Jonny picks the mistletoe out of the box with a deep breath that Chris sees rather than hears, his eyes trained on Jonny. Jonny smiles a little, before lifting it over Chris’ head.

“I’ve heard that there really should be a kiss for every berry,” Jonny murmurs, leaning towards Chris, his lip caught behind his teeth.

“How many berries are there?” Chris breathes out, not daring to move, in case it somehow scares Jonny away.

“Suddenly I can’t count,” Jonny whispers, closing the rest of the gap between them, pressing his lips against Chris’. Chris makes a slightly startled sound, the only reason he knows it’s him is because Jonny smiles. Jonny kisses him again, hands cupping Chris’ face, mistletoe gone somewhere Chris really doesn’t care about. When the kiss breaks this time, he pulls back from Chris a little to look at him. Those cheeks flushed redder than Jonny’s ever seen them, lips parted then drawn behind his teeth. Jonny lets out a sound, needing to get closer, but not wanting to break contact, none of it is very graceful but Chris’ doesn’t seem to mind, Jonny ending up straddling his lap. The apology dies on Jonny’s lips as Chris’ hands come to his hips. Jonny leans down for another kiss, Chris rushing up to meet him, a moan meeting somewhere between them as their bodies move against each other.

“Does that seem right? It wasn’t a very big branch of mistletoe?” Jonny asks, breath slightly laboured, his forehead and nose still pressed against Chris’.

“I think one more might be right.” Chris leans up and kisses Jonny again, soft and gentle. Jonny breaks the kiss, his breath ghosting across Chris’ lips in little puffs. Chris’ hands shift from where they hand been nudging under Jonny’s shirt to the outside of his thighs.

“I don’t think I want you to open your present anymore,” Jonny says, a smile across his face. Eventually he does let Chris open it, after promises not to laugh and promises not to be mad. 

The next day, a Leeds United keyring is looped through the zipper of Chris’ kit bag.

**Author's Note:**

> To the wonderful labonnetouche, Merry Christmas! It was an honour to write for you, you truly deserve something special and hopefully this brings you some joy. Thank you for being so supportive of me this year, you truly are a gift.
> 
> Thank you as always to Evie for being my Beta/Sounding Board/Cheerleader


End file.
